


Intangible (Love is…)

by ThePrincePea (MariekoWest)



Category: Nameless (Love is…), Original Work
Genre: F/M, Modern Gothic Romance, Old Writings, Original Nonsense, Unbeta'd, © MariekoWest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 20:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16394687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariekoWest/pseuds/ThePrincePea
Summary: This is a story unintentionally written and unintentionally felt, endured in the company of unbearably bitter tea and biting sweet-smelling spring frost.





	Intangible (Love is…)

_It’s like I’m so sure for reasons I can’t remember…_

_  
_

******-x-**

  
  


"Why are you here?”

  
  


She was still there.

His stalker.

   


_A ghost._

   


This "ghost", as soon as he had the displeasure of being acquainted with, did not have a name. Rather– didn't remember it; nor did it know why it was here, now, in his quarters. Again.

But, yes. This was customary to him by now, waking up with her face looking down upon him, after days (a week to be exact), as much as one can grow accustomed to seeing a semi-disembodied face first thing in the morning.

His heart leapt less frantically at the sight of her anxious face now. And he congratulated himself for managing to swallow the (manly) scream that caught in his throat.

He threw a fit on the first day, wrapping the covers around his bare torso—despite the icy winds lingering in the mid-April weather, he was always more comfortable sleeping in the nude (the comforters felt too good against his skin)—and really, quite understandably so, was petrified at how a girl, a few ways short of a woman, had apparently been staring at him as he slept… (hopefully not anything more).

He wasn't the type to let women slip into his bed so carelessly, not if he was in no mood for it (though many have tried) – no, he had far too much respect for the ladies to use them that way. He wasn’t suffering from a hangover either; that, he was doubly sure of. He enjoyed his booze as much as the next person, but he wasn’t the type who let the alcohol get to his head.

It was exactly because he regarded the opposite sex quite highly, that he was all the more, very much peeved at any inappropriate behavior they might display that would challenge his values towards them, and needless to say, invading his privacy so indecently was a bit much for his unprepared temper.

 _How rude._ Those were his first coherent thoughts after picking himself up off the floor. However, when he found out the hard way—thanks to other people's blank and questioning stares—that she was not your average stalker-slash-infiltrator, the whole situation spiraled from absurd to downright bonkers… to a tad amusing... Perhaps because, it wasn’t everyday that one gets the rare opportunity to be haunted by a ghost, so in a way, it was quite the experience, and he was always the one who was up for an exciting venture, every now and then… Though it took a while for his shocked mind to process it as such.

After gathering his wits about, enough sane bits to sit down and listen to a distraught soul's story, which was mostly just a recount of her last hours alive, and all of which thereafter, she remembered nothing of, he determined to help her. That's how it worked in the movies, right? You have to help lost souls settle whatever unfinished business they've untimely left on earth, so they can finally move on. And with that, he can hopefully be left in peace to go back to his (not-at-all-mundane-thank-you-very-much) normal life.

But where to start, when she remembered nothing?

No one else could see her, except him.

That was something to go by. _Why was he the only one who could see her? What could possibly be the reason?_ (He was certain he has never met her before.)

The most logical course of action, would be to ask.

And so one day, a calmer than the rest, he did.

  
  


"Why do you stick to me and not anyone else?"

She looked up startled, she was seated on the plush seat, a short distance from him—she did that when she knew he was busy working (and yes, somehow, she was seated, though not really sitting, something to do with the familiar feeling of sitting that allowed her to do—or mimic—it, despite how she would go through walls and floors and ceilings), staring off to somewhere beyond the window, the wind even slightly ruffling her hair. She almost looked alive, if he didn't see his reflection in the mirror right through her, _without_ her reflection on it.

"Is it because I am the only one who can see you?" he prodded nonchalantly, finding himself bemused by her actions.

"Huh? Oh..." A pregnant pause. "It's... not exactly just that..."

"What then. Why are you here?"

He didn't think a ghost could get any paler but she did. She didn't say any more. As if she couldn't remember the words to what she wanted to say, she looked painfully wistful, fixated at nothing in particular but something too far for the eyes (and mind) to reach... When she finally remembered his presence and snapped out of her melancholic reverie, she just looked up at him, wordlessly...

Infecting him with a lost feeling.  
  


   


**To be continued…(?)**  


**Author's Note:**

> It was never the plan nor interest to write anything original. Yet, I've always had these ideas for non-fanfiction that I've been playing around with and attempting to piece together whenever inspiration strikes. Since I've had this written for quite a while now, I thought: why don't I put this out there and see what happens? I have a crude notion of where I want to go with this but I think I'll be reworking a lot of parts since my inspiration for this series and my views on love have changed since. This was quickly edited and posted as a practice piece and small breather between my writing pending fanfictions. Depending on my mood, I may or may not add to this. Any sort of (polite) feedback is always welcome. Cheers!


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